Stranger Days
by anni port
Summary: One of Ankh-Morpork's adopted sons returns to his pestilent home town. Just in time since the Guild Banquet is about to take place, the Assassin's Guild has some very undesirable competition and a long forgotten contract is dusting off its cobwebs (much to the spider's surprise).
1. Night Watch

_Disclaimer: Discworld and all characters thereof are the property of Sir Terry Pratchett; The greatest comedic fantasy genius since Douglas Adams._

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**Stranger Days**

_**(or, more literally, Days of Strangers)**_

**Night Watch**

Pseudopolis Yard is always bustling with activity but this afternoon saw the watch house reach epic proportions of hysterical industriousness. The reason for such manic diligence in an otherwise energy-conservative staff like the Watch was twofold.

1) This week was the end of the fiscal year which meant all the watchmen would be up for salary review. In some cities this might hold the prospect of a rise in pay but in Ankh-Morpork Lord Vetinari had found it far more effective to threaten pay _deductions_ in harmony with employee performance. Some people might work extra hard in hopes of a raise but absolutely everyone will slave to avoid a cut.

2) Commander Vimes, he of the stony face and glare, was currently at the Patrician's office. This meant that, at any moment, he was due to return in a fit of such barely contained fury that anyone caught breathing would be put on Shades patrol for the week. It was rumored that Vimes had once come back from a meeting with Vetinari so livid that when he'd been handed a cup of tea it went to boiling. (This is not verifiably true as the cup was shattered in his fist before any confirmation could be made)

So everyone who hadn't already escaped on patrol kept their eyes glued to paperwork with the sort of intensity usually only mastered by very lonely men at exotic dance establishments. Angua was getting ready to go out on her patrol but hadn't yet escaped because her partner had yet to arrive. Instead she stood impatiently by the door talking to Carrot in a tone agonizing between flirtatious and infuriated.

"I was slated to patrol with you, Carrot." She growled, as only a werewolf can.

"Special instructions, Angua. The Commander wants a full sweep of the Palace and grounds before tomorrow night. It really shows what confidence he has in the two of you!" Carrot beamed proudly at her, full of respect for the abilities her nature had cursed her with.

"But you and I work faster together. We might even finish with time for a quick double-knot. Extra-hot." She winked, her voice a little lower. All coppers were natural eavesdroppers. Carrot paused, puzzling over this idea as he did over anything new and not covered in a manual.

"I don't think the pretzel carts are out that late. They barely hang around for last call to dump customers on the streets and pack up right after. Something to do with starting the next batch of dough, I understand."

Angua stared; she always did when Carrot spoke with such naiveté, just in case there was some guile beneath the innocence. There wasn't even the faintest twitch or glimmer in his eye to suggest anything other than his usual absolute virtuous simplicity. _After all these years you'd think I'd understand._

"Fine," she gave up and slumped back against the wall by the door, "Where is she anyway? Bloody vampires. Always have to be 'fashionably late.'"

Carrot, who knew that Corporal Von Humpeding was only three minutes late and that the Watch clock was fast, said nothing. They fell into habitual conversation about the latest batch of disturbance reports (they'd both been on the Watch so long that this was also their pillow talk).

Suddenly Angua straightened up and her eyes darted to the door. Carrot knew what that meant. Angua could pick out each and every member of the Watch by their unique smell. Cheery was a floral body wash, a heavy splash of musk (because the dwarf had recently discovered perfume and assumed – dwarfishly – that more was better) and the faint odor of acids. Constable Visit always smelled of earnestness and printing ink. Sergeant Colon smelled like a donut that had been fried in bacon fat and when he was nervous there was an undertone of mackerel. Nobby smelled like... well, Nobby.

Commander Sir Samuel Vimes smelled like the paving stones of the street after a heavy rain. It was a complex smell that had to have been absorbed through his feet and it was completely unmistakable. Angua put her hand on the door and counted down the seconds as the odor grew closer. Four . . . three . . . two . . . one. She pulled the door open right before Vimes might've burst through on his own. The wall behind the door couldn't take too many more strikes from the handle.

Everyone braced for the tidal swell of rage and heat that generally flowed in with the Commander on these occasions, only to be left gasping like fish swept ashore. Vimes was not stomping in. He was strolling with one hand in his pocket and the other playing with the half a cigar he'd apparently been enjoying on his stroll. He was humming. Angua glanced askance at Carrot, seeing only sincere confusion in his eyes as well. The rest of the Watch were so unnerved that they all either left for patrol early, decided now was the perfect time for tea break or suddenly took ill. A few actually tripped over each other in the doorways.

"The meeting with Lord Vetinari went well, then, Commander?" Carrot saluted his greeting – pointless since Vimes' back was to him on the stairs.

"My head still on? Then yes, it must have." No mood was too good for Vimes to lose his sarcastic edge.

"You're unusually chipper," Carrot hazarded again, "Has the Guild Banquet for tomorrow night been suddenly canceled?"

"Ha!" Vimes turned now, the twinkle in his eyes clearly a glint, "Not a chance. Have to give the guild leaders and the aristocrats one night a year to size each other up and prove who the bigger wanker is. I think I'll bet on the guilds this year, even the Assassins haven't got a handicap like Rust."

"And it is still full formal dress, isn't it?" Angua tried the next obvious suspicion.

"Yes, blast it. Tights and all. Odd thing though, Sybil hasn't been able to find the hat." Vimes definitely had a hint of a smile when he said this. It wasn't so much in his mouth as in the way the hard lines softened. He turned and headed up to his office, the two officers automatically falling in behind them. Carrot and Angua communicated with each other through urgent glances and the complex sign language of eyebrows. They were trying desperately to imagine what could have their boss in such good spirits. For half a minute the man was actually whistling under his breath!

"I don't suppose she's been able to order another? Hat?"

"Sadly, no. It's quite unusual material. The haberdashery can't get the proper makings for at least a month." Sam settled in behind his desk and took another long, satisfied draw on his cigar.

"Which haberdashery, sir?" Carrot puzzled, he knew at least 18 shops in Isle of Gods alone. Several of which would manufacture forged goods on site, up to and including Octarine for wizards' hats.

"All of them." Vimes smiled now. That certainly explained the 'special investigative patrol' that he'd sent Dorfl and Nobby out on all week. Carrot's forehead was beginning to contort into a knot with his effort to be tactful, circumspect, respectful but still suspicious as all hell. Angua decided to spare him the worry lines.

"You're unusually cheerful, sir. It's not like you after a visit with the Patrician." She stated plainly. Vimes' smile didn't move, in fact it might have widened a bit. There was something smug about the edges of his expression.

"Apparently Lord Vetinari had to listen to Lord Downey fume for some time this afternoon. The Assassin's Guild is quite upset about some new challengers in their market. Some up and coming young chap's been bad for business."

"Which is always good for us?" Carrot hazarded, trying to find the particular angle that made this view so rosy. Usually competing assassins just meant more dead bodies. All with proper paperwork, of course.

"Anything that upsets Downey is good for us, Captain. He says business is down, which is just another way of saying more people are living. I don't know who or what is happening in the world of assassins right now but put the word out: whoever is sticking it to the guild is our newest friend."

"Unofficially, sir?"

"Damn straight. I want an unofficial report on this unauthorized person so I can informally shake his unofficial hand!"

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_Reviews are much appreciated to keep creativity rolling._


	2. Patrol

**Patrol**

"So I'm almost ready to head out when Sniveler comes stumbling in, his head all wrapped with bloody tape." Sally recounted as she and Angua proceeded towards the Palace.

"Oh lord, no." Angua groaned sympathetically. Sniveler had wasted more Watch time than the combined efforts of all the Guilds and the League for Equal Heights.

"He's got about a brick's worth of gauze in his mouth so it takes 10 minutes just to find out that he got the stuffing kicked out of him by three guys – nothing new – and then another 5 for each of the attackers' names. Ever heard someone try to say 'The Crimson Leech' around a mouthful of cotton? It's impossible, he resorted to mime and the whole office came in to watch. It took another 15 minutes and I'm still not sure we have it right. Turns out, Sniveler isn't pressing charges for assault-,"

"We'd have to arrest half of Morpork."

"He wants to file a stolen property report. He'd had 5 teeth smashed out of his mouth and couldn't find them. Apparently he knows a place where he can fetch four pence a tooth."

"Oh? That's a penny more than the Fairies are currently doing. Good old Sniveler, strips the silver lining off clouds with a potato peeler."

"So, I'm forgiven for being 6 minutes and 18 seconds late?" Sally teased with one arched brow.

Angua only caught the expression from the corner of her eye, noting with chagrin that the coquettish expression suited her vampire partner perfectly. She might not be a raving fan of the other Undead species but she'd grudgingly allowed herself a tiny amount of respect and even affection for Salacia Delorisista Amanita Trigestrata Zeldana -Who The Hell Needs This Many Names? - Von Humpeding. There were more names in there somewhere but Angua always felt her attention flagging around the twentieth syllable.

"I'll excuse the first 4 minutes. You can make up the rest by filing any incident reports we have tonight." The Werewolf smiled. There's an incredibly frightening and altogether unexplored phenomenon of dental communication that takes place when a Vampire and Werewolf smile at each other.

The rest of the walk to the Palace was mostly silent save the usual necessary copper-speak in Ankh-Morpork.

'Drop that Dwarf,'

'No axe-wielding in public, please,'

'Stop right there and show me your Thieves' Guild License,'

'Pick up those severed fingers, littering is fined.'

'Madam, please put your knockers away, it's after vending hours.'

It was actually a fairly quiet evening. The whole city was holding its breath for the impending chaos that always accompanied the Guild Banquet. What once had been a fairly harmless occasion for businessmen, lawyers and politicians to engage in highly illegal conversations had, in recent years, become an opportunity for guild members of all kinds to display their prowess by any means possible. Chefs, Tailors, Musicians and Actors all tried desperately to gain entry and advertise their abilities. The Gamblers' Guild made book on them. The Lawyers' Guild profited off each one caught.

It was a well-known fact that any currently licensed guild member who managed to sneak into the Banquet and complete a targeted assignment would be awarded duty-free membership for life. Angua still remembered last year when she had to drag away a screaming mathematics teacher who was convinced he could explain the concept of Zero to the Guild of Merchants. They were just a minor nuisance. It was the Thieves and Assassins that were the real problem. They were the reason Angua and Sally were being asked to survey the grounds and look for any hint of security weakness. Lord Downey was actually proud of the fact that his students had managed to penetrate the banquet every year. They hadn't successfully inhumed anyone – thanks to Commander Vimes' paranoia and reflexes – but they always found a way in.

"I almost forgot to ask, how's Hugo?" Angua inquired just as they entered the Palace gates. She mentally commended herself for remembering a personal detail that had absolutely no relevance to crime. Maybe Carrot was rubbing off on her.

"I had to break up with him. Last week." Sally shrugged. They began their circle of the main building, senses spun out in all directions to pick up irregularities. Funny thing about instinctive detection: it works better at picking up subtleties when the mind is distracted.

"What? But things were going so well! You said that he had skills that might help him keep up with you."

"I though since he was one of Vetinari's clerks he might. They have a lot of training and his reflexes really were beautiful," Sally had a momentarily dreamy expression, "But for all their deadly abilities the dark clerks are just too fragile to be playing with the undead. C'est la vie."

(a Genuan phrase that translates literally as: life is shit)

Angua recognized the resigned tone and the ring of disappointment.

"How many times did you put him in the hospital?"

"We were at the Lady Sybil 3 times this month. The last time I'd snapped his collar bone and broke four ribs. Dr. Lawn lectured me for 45 minutes." Sally grimaced. Angua winced in sympathy. She'd heard Mossy Lawn's dissertation on 'safe sex' several times. He had quite a different script for the Undead than for everyone else.

"Humans are awfully delicate. Maybe you'll meet someone at the Temperance League?" Angua was doing her best in the role of supportive companion. She didn't have a lot of experience. Somehow she didn't think that the conversations she'd had with Nobby and his paramours would be relevant.

"Not a chance," Sally actually scoffed – which is harder than it sounds, "I'd never date another Vampire. They're vain, petty, self-absorbed, arrogant and that obsessive nature is just impossible! Do you know what a Vampire thinks is romantic? Stalking."

"I never would've imagined." Angua kept her face a complete mask.

"I just wish I could find a Werewolf." Sally sighed wistfully, eyeing a roof parapet.

"W-w," Angua actually stopped walking, "What?!"

"All that stamina? And nearly impossible to kill! Not to mention they're hardly bashful in the nudity department," Sally winked, "Honestly, I think most Vampires would prefer a nice, furry friend."

"We've been enemies for millennia!" Angua noticed some of the Palace Guards turn at her exclamation.

"Oh, naturally. Our species couldn't maintain this sort of animosity for so long _without_ some component of attraction in the mix. Don't tell me you never noticed all the sexual tension?"

"I guess anger just isn't one of my turn-ons." Angua blushed, wishing a thief would burst around the corner to distract them right now.

"Really?" Sally's eyebrows both rose innocently, "What do you call make-up sex?"

"I call it private." Angua cleared her throat and the noise was very obviously a growl. Vampires have perfect night vision, the damn woman was undoubtedly seeing the color in her cheeks.

"I've made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry." Sally looked down, allowing her partner some privacy to recover her coloring.

"Just not the sort of conversation I'm used to. Sober anyway."

"It's not like it's terribly relevant. Werewolves are a bit scarce outside Uberwald. I'll just have to hope another nice one shows up in Ankh-Morpork someday." The smaller woman sighed again. Angua's brain caught 'another nice one' and paused over the phrase. She decided she'd been embarrassed enough this evening and let it pass. They were already half way around the Palace and at this rate would finish their surveillance early. Damn Carrot. Now she _really_ needed that double-knot.

"Wait, I smell something." Angua stopped dead in her tracks. The faint, tickling sensation in her nostrils was the delicate trail of an almost fading scent. The city's criminals had become a lot smarter over the years. It was now part of Stealth 101 to put strongly scented oil in your criminal kit. Right now the dark evening air was carrying the light alto tones of peppermint. Straight up the wall.

"I hear someone half way up. Slow heartbeat. They're coming down." Sally verified. Angua nodded and pulled her partner into the shadow of a decorative statue. From here their suspect would drop directly in front of them facing the wrong way. It should be easier than biting candy to snatch him up.

The shadows on the Palace wall slithered and fluctuated as an extra patch of darkness moved with spidery grace down the façade. Angua's night vision was good but not as good as Sally's so when her superbly sensitive ears picked up the Vampire's quick breath of surprise she listened closer. When Sally spoke it was at the volume of a falling leaf.

"Don't move. He's coming down facing out." Von Humpeding warned. No one scaled or descended buildings facing out. Only someone extremely paranoid and ludicrously talented would do such a thing. Which meant he also had to have a weapon within easy reach. Angua's muscles coiled tight, ready to lunge the moment their prey blinked. His feet were firmly on the ground now and close enough that she could see him staring into the shadows all around him. For a moment he looked directly at them. Then, unable to penetrate the dark enough to see the watchmen, he turned to retrieve his scaling tools. That was when Angua lunged.

She had him pinned to the wall in the same moment that Sally gripped his wrist hard enough to make him drop his dagger. Her superhuman strength crushed the spring loader in his sleeve that would've slipped another blade to his palm. Instead there was a faint grunt of irritated pain when the sharp edge broke the skin of his wrist.

"City Watch!" Angua growled and the suspect immediately held still. The Watch wasn't a particularly moving threat but the tone of her words froze blood.

"License?" Sally asked, patting down the sides of the black silk suit.

"Front left pocket." The words were offered up casually, despite having a face smashed to the brickwork. Sally found the Assassin's Guild license card and nodded to Angua. They stepped back, allowing an apparently respectable member of society to turn and dust himself off. He had black material over his head and around his face, leaving only his eyes visible. Angua took the license and examined it. The odor of peppermint on his clothes was almost overwhelming but the card had lived close to his skin for too long. She took a deep sniff.

"You're here about 24 hours early if you have an assignment for the Guild." She commented, trying to identify the familiar smell. It smelled spicy, with an undertone of wood.

"I'm on a private contract, Captain." His voice was also vaguely familiar.

"Doesn't that invalidate your guild membership?" Sally was pretty sure the Assassin's actively discouraged competition. With prejudice.

"Only if I were contracted to inhume." His accent was distinct, foreign but obviously honed in Ankh-Morpork.

"If you're not here on guild business then you're not protected by their secrecy clauses. What's your assignment?"

"I do private security. I was just setting a few traps for my brethren tomorrow night. I predict anyone trying to scale the south wall will find it rather surprising."

"Who contracted you?" Sally didn't bother to address his booby traps. Assassins all played the game by their own rules and that included altering the battlefield to their own advantage. Angua was nearly ready to bite the license card, so certain she _knew_ this smell but couldn't place it.

"My professional services come with absolute privacy I'm afraid." The man shrugged apologetically.

"Then your services will be rendered from the lockup. Come along." Sally began to pull handcuffs from her belt. This presented a bit of difficulty as one of the fiddly metal bits had gotten tangled with the thread of her pants.

"Now really! Captain Angua!" the offended plea hit a tone that finally registered with the werewolf's subconscious. It was the sound of wounded pride; royal arrogance brought down to pedestrian demand. Neither his smell nor sound had made sense until they merged into a single entity from her memory.

"Bloody hell! Teppic? Is that you?" Angua reached out and flicked away the black silk around the captive's face. In the foggy dark his smile was dazzling in its brightness.

"I was beginning to worry you didn't know me." Teppic grinned.

"The peppermint didn't help. I thought you had gone back to Djelibeybi to check on your sister?"

"Ptraci is doing extremely well and quite hostile to anyone implying she needs help. Her aim with a spear has improved a great deal." Teppic turned and gestured to a cut by his ear.

"Best left alone to her despotic nature then." Angua grinned.

"Those were very near her words. I daresay it was the extra bits of swearing that spoiled her throw." He tsked in a way that could only be learned from years of being educated by Assassins.

"I hate to interrupt this lovely reunion but am I cuffing him or should I just let you take him to tea?" Sally finally wrenched the handcuffs free with a tiny ripping noise that told her she'd be making a payroll deduction this period. Angua glanced at the Vampire to gauge her overall annoyance level. The more fang you could see, the higher the threat to some innocent bystander. Fortunately, this was Ankh-Morpork and the last innocent bystander had been killed 3 years ago by a rogue sausage cart.

"Easy Sal," Angua gestured the cuffs away, "He might have some information for us."

"Such as?" The tiny hissing breath that escaped Von Humpeding's lips wasn't lost on Angua but the officer followed orders.

"Now Teppic, you wouldn't by any chance know anything about the annoyance that has Lord Downey so up in arms, would you?" Angua turned her attention back to the man in black. _Nobody_ got up in arms like an assassin could. They also got up in stealth darts, tasteless poisons and ear-blowing incendiaries.

The young former king pursed his lips in the classic "I know the answer but I want you to think I'm concentrating," sort of face adopted by everyone with information desired by the law. Angua decided to move him more quickly along his act.

"Anything at all?" she leaned in closer to him with an expression that showed all her teeth but could never be confused with a smile.

"I might know a bit. Yes." Teppic tried to back away but couldn't make his backside crawl through brick.

"Great!" Angua leaned back, "Then you won't mind coming down to the Yard and telling us all about it."

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_R&R if you liked it.  
_


	3. History

_This chapter is quite a bit longer but I couldn't find a good cutting spot._

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**History**

Sally tapped her pencil against her teeth in annoyance. She then made sure no one was watching before she quietly drew another pencil from her drawer and spat out the wooden pieces she'd inadvertently bitten. This round of paperwork was proving extra demanding. If she'd known filling out the report was going to be this complicated she'd have thrown Sniveler to the training recruits and flown (literally) to meet Angua on time.

The part pertaining to finding and detaining Teppic was pretty straightforward. It had been the walk back to the watch house that made everything go wahoonie-shaped. More specifically, it was the group of Differently Alive and Entirely Drunk that they encountered en route.

_Most nights a flash of badge and tooth was all it took to move inebriates out of her path. And when she was with Angua? Most of them fled before even seeing the glint of . . .copper. Not this group though, oooooh no. They were so drunk and disorderly even Biers wouldn't put up with them so now they were out in the streets raising three kinds of hell and at least a few mushrooms._

_Angua had admonished them to keep moving and go lower the living somewhere a bit more private. This had elicited a few hoots from the banshees, the zombie laughed and then had to pick up a tooth and the vampire let out a hissing sound that was something like a snicker. Even the ghoul grinned._

_ "__Perhaps you'd care to join us?" the vampire swept up beside the watch captain. It was one thing to be so drunk you couldn't stand still without swaying side to side – which he was - it was entirely another to be so drunk that it seemed like a good idea to invade Angua Von Uberwald's personal space. That was the ultimate definition of dead drunk._

_ "__I have my singers for entertainment," the vampire continued, gesturing to the banshees, "My butler is a bit green; as you can see," the zombie laughed again but this time held a hand in front of his mouth, "And I have a very practiced chef," the ghoul hadn't stopped grinning, "Now all I really need is a nice companion. Tell me, do you fetch?"_

_ "__Only bones." Angua's reply was perfect deadpan. It was enough to signal the simmering anger underneath without betraying any loss of control. No, when the beautiful blonde ripped their limbs from their bodies and tore through undead flesh like cheap latrine paper she would be fully in control of herself._

_ "__No companions for you here. Best continue your search elsewhere. After a good day's rest I should think." Sally interceded to urge the party along before Angua's perfect control manifested itself. _

_ "__Fine, fine, we'll move along," the zombie finally spoke up and pulled his fanged friend away, "But how about you give us a quick bite first?"_

_ "__Excuse me?" Sally felt herself slip into the same controlled calm Angua already occupied. _

_ "__Just a quick one. I promise I won't scream – unless you like that." The horrible sucking noise that followed would be forever echoing in Sally's mind. She'd never seen or heard a zombie try to blow a kiss before. _

_She was so distracted by the horrific attempt that she didn't notice the rustle of offended silk beside her. They'd almost forgotten about Teppic._

The report, as she'd decided to summarize it ran thusly:

1. 1) The Apprehended Trespasser then escaped captivity.

2. 2) An assault was perpetrated against the Disorderly Parties

3. 3) The Aforementioned Disorderly eluded capture because of fleeing at great speed all in separate directions.

4. 4) Before the Escaped Trespasser could be caught he voluntarily surrendered back into custody.

5. 5) The Disorderly Parties are not currently pressing charges. However, the evidence locker will hold 27 teeth, 3 fingers and 1 bag of ash until such time as the banshees recover their voices.

_Angua and Sally had given chase to Teppic but he met them halfway back, offering both his hands for cuffing and not even slightly apologetic that his fists were full of rather organic trophies._

_"__I'm sorry. I realize that was not very appropriate of me." He watched Sally's irritated face closely as she put the irons on. She wasn't sure what annoyed her more; the fact that a suspect had escaped her possession, that he'd apparently escaped to avenge her honor or that she hadn't had a chance to stuff the zombie's words back down his throat along with his lips._

_"__No, it wasn't." She confirmed and squeezed the cuffs closed a little tighter than necessary. She released his wrists but he caught one of her hands. She went to yank away but the signal was lost somewhere between her brain and her arm._

_"__I promise next time I'll let you go first." He winked, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand for just a moment before releasing hold._

The touch had been infuriating. It was overly familiar, presumptuous, laden with innuendo and despite all that she'd enjoyed it a bit too much for her own comfort. She'd felt an almost instantaneous need for lukewarm cocoa and mediocre platitudes. Sally eyed the beetroot that rested on the corner of her desk. She knew the canteen kept a crate of the things on hand in case of emergency. She liked to have one nearby as a constant warning to not give into the clichéd urges. Few things were as embarrassing as going all bloodshot and seductive only to wake up in a lace corset (it never mattered what a vampire female was wearing before having an episode, she ALWAYS ended up in a lace corset) with three fellow watchmen holding you down and shoving beetroot between elongated fangs..

At this moment a bite of hard purple/red flesh was looking damned good. Particularly since Teppic was just 15 feet away, sitting on Angua's desk and regaling the watch officers with recent exploits. It seemed most of the watch was familiar with the assassin. They'd greeted his arrival in irons like the return of a long-lost deviant cousin. Not too far a stretch since most of the Watch were deviants themselves in some form. Case in point: the officer sitting at the desk across from her.

"So how does Angua know a silkworm?" Sally asked, grateful for the natural nonchalance that always oozed off her kind. Vampires breathed indifference (since they actually didn't have to breathe at all).

"What," Nobby looked up at her then followed her gaze to the small but boisterous group, "Oh – Silent P? He isn't really one of them. He looks the part and pays his dues and such but he's never done a contract. Not for the guild, anyways. Done some fine work for other people though, useful guy to have around. He's done jobs for the Watch time to time."

"He contracts for the Watch? Commander Vimes hates assassins!"

"He hates vampires too. Doesn't stop him using people with skills. He got on the Commander's good side right fast too. You remember that business with Chrysoprase's warehouse on the docks – oh, right. You weren't around then. It was a couple years ago while you were lazing up in Bonk."

"Liaising, Nobby." She seldom bothered to correct him anymore.

"'Swhat I said. Anyways we get a tip that there's a storehouse of Slice down on the docks but before we can bust in to grab it old Slant jumps in with enough paperwork to bury us up to our buttonholes," Nobby had a way of inventing euphemisms that sounded more offensive than the real thing, "So we're stuck a hundred feet away while Pessimal tries to shovel all the papers back onto the manure cart they rode in on and Vimes is furious, right? Just fit to make Slant a fortune off the tooth fairies, see. Then it dawns on him we had the solution all along, a smuggler and his business partner were sleeping one off down in the cells until we could find some evidence to make stick."

"Naturally." Sally nodded. It was a deeply held tradition in the Watch to _know_ everyone was guilty of something and not let them go until you found out what. Detritus was particularly adept at eliciting confessions. Not the way most people think – he never raised a fist. But sitting in an interrogation room with the Troll while he tried to fill out his reports could move the most stalwart innocents to suddenly remember wrongdoings long passed. For the stubborn cases he brought his lunch in with him.

"Vimes goes over the papers on the lads and tells me the one to fetch: our friend in black, ol' Silent P."

"Wait, Nobby," it was going to drive her crazy if she didn't ask, "Why do you call him that?"

"What?" Nobby had to interrupt his narrative train of thought, "Cause it's his name."

"He said so?"

"Sure he did! I go down to the cells, bang the bars to rouse the souses and reads the name right like it's printed, 'Pteppic,' I says, 'I need the one of you called Pteppic.' And there's no response for a sec and then the one dressed like a shadow's boyfriend just sort of barely moves and says, 'Silent Pee.' Course, I say 'what?' but I'm thinking to myself 'Is it now?' Mine ain't usually. Specially after a night's patrol in the fancy parts of town where you can't grab a quick slash against the wall for fear of some nob getting uppity. And after that time what I drank the new asparagus beer down at the Drum? I tell you –,"

"I get it, Nobby." Sally quickly stopped him. Nobby's fascination with his own bodily functions could be an hour-long tangent if not swiftly halted. It was hard enough to follow him through his reckless scattering of quotation marks.

"Huh? Oh, right. He gets to his feet, swaying a bit mind you, and looks at me and says 'My name is Teppic. Silent P, Teppic.' Real firm. That's who he's been ever since."

"Makes perfect sense." Sally could only agree weakly. The man had brought it on himself, really.

"I hustle him off to Vimes and it's not 20 minutes later that our black clad lad has been overcome with feelings of civic obligation. He hauls his smuggling friend off on his back and the two did gods know what or how but come next morning when we had the warrants to pry the doors off the warehouse? The whole place was empty and no one was more shocked and upset than old Chrysoprase himself." Nobby wiped his hands together in finality before leaning back with a triumphant grin, perhaps congratulating himself on actually getting all the way to the end of the story.

"The Commander always has his surprises." Sally observed thoughtfully.

It was pretty neat; everyone knew the docks were laced with enough sewer tunnels and secret passages that you could get from ship to the taverns without seeing daylight so long as you didn't mind seeing things much worse. No one would know the routes better than a smuggler. The warehouse would've been rigged with plenty of traps as well – the Breccia could be horrifyingly brilliant in their creative ways of preventing theft (most involved wall murals of vivid colors that you never wanted to inspect _too_ close) – but an assassin would be perfect for working around any surprising trip wires or caltrops. It was all . . .convenient.

A round of laughter from the other side of the room pulled her attention away from her suspicious musings. Teppic was smiling patiently as his audience recovered so he could continue whatever whopper of a tale he was spinning. _He looks like that painting at the museum, the gods on Cori Celesti. _The thought slipped through her mind like a shark fin in placid water. _Not that he looks god like! He just – it, like holding court. Yes. That's it. He looks like a figure of authority. That's all. Or maybe like one of those orgy gods surrounded by naked women and urns? _She groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of her nose and trying to drive away the mental image. The last thing she needed in her mind right now was Constables Haddock, Fiddyment and Ping as naked nymphs, grapes or not.

_Fifteen feet away:_

"As you must know, it's upsetting enough to think you have the fastest ship on the Cricle Sea only to find another vessel catching you. It's much, much worse to realize it's a pirate ship and you're currently smuggling a hold full of Ephebian pottery and maths books," Teppic paused, watching his audience lean forward in anticipation, "Now, take that and multiply it by about a thousand and you'll know how Chidder felt when he realized the pirate captain was a woman he'd spent the evening with some months before. Apparently he cut out in the early hours of dawn, taking her purse and weapons but not the pub bill."

There was a round of chuckles and ribald noises of appreciation as his audience drew their own mental pictures – some of them in stick figures.

"But, angry as she might have been over what Chiddertook, I think she was a bit more upset over what he left behind."

"Oh, left a little reminder did he?" one of the watchmen grinned. The fact that he was actually she – a dwarf from Poleaxe Road – didn't change the leering reactions of her comrades.

"Probably a case a crustaceans!" another constable offered.

"Crustaceans?" Teppic repeated in surprise, "No, I think she would've been quite at peace with that. After all, they don't stay in your body for months and your life for decades."

"No!"

"He didn't!""

"Well, they could if not treated properly." There was always someone not quite following the conversation close enough.

"Anyway, she allowed us escort back here to Ankh-Morpork and the last I saw of Chidder he was being hauled to her vessel fully bound and gagged.I couldn't presume to say whether he was an unwilling participant. _That_, Captain Angua, is why I was delayed coming back to the city."

"You have a story for everything, Teppic." Angua shook her head with a small smile. For years the former king had been spinning tales for everyone. They started with pyramids and undead and genius camels and just built from there. He was his own mythology. Which – given his bloodline – might have been inevitable.

"I must say, I would've hurried back far sooner if I knew you'd upgraded patrol partners so drastically." Teppic smiled, allowing his eyes to slide in the direction of Sally's desk. The vampire was hunched over her paperwork like she might strangle answers out of the ink with her fingers.

"You heartbreaker. How would Cheery feel if she heard you say that?" Angua crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. The other watchmen had begun to wander away to their own duties now that story time was over.

"Ah, the petite genius. She was quite fun. I've never known someone who played quite her version of 20 Questions," Teppic hesitated as he remembered vials being waved under his blind-folded face, "But your new fanged friend is an entirely different specimen. She's lovely, deadly and by my observation deeply disturbed. How could any man resist?"

"You're not any man, Teppic." Angua reminded him, following his gaze to the pale brunette across the room. Disturbed? Well, weren't all the undead? All coppers to, come to that.

"Which just means I have a better chance than most. You really must arrange an introduction for us."

"You met her hours ago when she tackled you into the Palace's south wall."

"That was delightful," Tepic acknowledged with an ungodly glint in his eyes, "But a personal endorsement might be to my advantage."

"I'll try to think of one while you're in your cell." Angua shook her head and rose to escort Teppic to the jail cells below.

"Must we really go through with this charade?" he sighed but stood as well, using his best wounded puppy eyes. He hadn't yet worked out that the look never affected a werewolf.

"You attempted escape, Teppic. You're detained until the Commander comes in for morning reports and hears what you have to say."

"Oh, very well. No good deed etcetera etcetera." Puppy eyes vanished back into the tired dignity that fit him like his tailored silk. He was all too familiar with the routine.

"Don't take it so hard. I think the boys found your black pillow and silk sheets."

"I'll certainly have sweet dreams." Teppic said quietly with a smirk, his gaze going straight past Angua. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and knew Sally had both heard the comment and caught the look. The blonde quickly pushed Teppic through the door to the cells below. She only cast a quick glance over her shoulder and saw Sally sinking her teeth into crimson beetroot.


	4. Rack Time

_Things have been busy so this is just a quick interlude as I try to get back into the story. Review if you enjoy._

* * *

The Ankh-Morpork City Watch had special protocols for those occasions when the populace was even more criminally inclined than usual. It started with Koom Valley Day but quickly was extended to cover Hogswatch Night, Troll Old Year, All Gold's Day (which was primarily dwarven but was growing in popularity), Mrs. Palm's birthday (the city was never uglier than on the one night all the seamstresses took off) and most recently: the Harvest Sabbatical. The final was most confusing since it had been conceived by city men who'd never even held a hoe (the farming implement) but had some fuzzy notions about ancient traditions, fertility rites, sabbats and plowing. They'd become far too excited to bother with nuisances like accurate terminology.

It was just as well the Koom Valley Accord had ended the annual troll/dwarf dust-up because the coppers just didn't have time for it anymore.

This was the first year that the Guild Banquet had been added to the list and the watch switched over to emergency protocol without batting an eye. Literally. Sleep fell under 'non-essential' duties for a solid 48 hours. Everyone was on continuous rotation with only an hour's rack time every shift. The bunks were harder than a golem's ass and the pillows felt like they'd been stuffed with Igor's spare parts. Sometimes smelled like it too. Most of the watch found that simply stepping into the bunk room gave them the energy to race out around the block a few times. Particularly if it was Angua and Carrot's turn for rack time and they'd forgotten to jam the door shut.

The muffled thumping of moving furniture preceded Angua emerging from the bunks with a luxurious stretch and smile that was very nearly feline in its contentment. Carrot was just behind her, still reassembling his armor.

"Your turn for the bunks, Sal." The blonde smiled as she walked past.

"No thanks. I think I'll wait for the next rotation." Sally shook her head, trying to suggest moderate disapproval but only succeeding in making it to bemused.

"You've already been on for twelve. Pass up this hour and you may not see another bed for two shifts. Once the banquet starts no one gets a break until dawn." Carrot warned, radiating concern.

"Probably not even then," Sally acknowledged, "I'll be fine. Child of the night – remember?"

Carrot had managed to get his chest plate done up but when he went to buckle on his sword he realized his belt was still back in the bunks and he sheepishly returned to fetch it.

"Mmm," Angua crossed her arms and eyeballed her coworker appraisingly, "I'm more concerned about the officer in the morning."

"Angua, I wouldn't be able to sleep in there right now anyway. It always smells for hours after you two have been in there." Sally lowered her voice a little, grateful Carrot had to step away.

"Really? It bothers you? I hardly even notice it anymore and I smell everything."

"Yeah, well, I think you may have had more time to get used to it. Seriously, do you two _always_ have to do that here? Can't it just wait until we're off crisis schedule?"

"Carrot thinks it's important to keep a good routine." Angua shrugged.

"Absolutely. Excuses are the gateway to neglect." Carrot affirmed as he returned to the conversation, despite not really having a clue what they were talking about.

"Fine. We'll just have to get you a different kind of armor polish." Sally gave up, wrinkling her nose at the pungent aroma still clinging to them both. She could actually see the reflection of her face in Angua's breastplate.


End file.
